


Misdirection

by mistr3ssquickly



Series: Redemption [8]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Been a hot minute since I wrote from Luke's PoV, Fictional food so good it's got its own recipe at the end, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 05:59:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14395788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistr3ssquickly/pseuds/mistr3ssquickly
Summary: Luke and Han spend an evening out together.





	Misdirection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotebookishType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotebookishType/gifts), [HockityPockity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HockityPockity/gifts).



Leia is lying to him. 

Not entirely; she knows better than to do that, knew better even before her curiosity about her Force gift opened her up to him through their meditation sessions together, granting him even greater insight into her thoughts and feelings than he'd had naturally. The diplomatic training she had on Alderaan and Coruscant taught her all too well the value of weaving truth into any lie she tells, making the full truth difficult, if not possible, to separate from falsehood.

She _isn't_ lying about wanting to be alone, for example; he can sense that from her just as plainly as he can sense the heat of the day around the edges of the door to their flat, isn't pretending to be annoyed with Han's presence the longer they're occupying the same space. And where Luke wants desperately to stay with her, to tease out whatever it was he sensed from her earlier that afternoon, he knows from the years he's spent following her across the galaxy with Han in tow that all he’ll get if he sticks around is a front row seat to watching Han _intentionally_ set her off, the resulting fight nothing Luke has any interest in revisiting. 

So he kisses Leia on the cheek and pulls Han by the arm out of the flat, Han’s surprise at _Luke_ being the one to suggest that they go out drinking together distraction enough to keep him from saying (or doing) anything to annoy Leia on their way out. He's suspicious, though, staring at Luke more obviously than usual as they take the 'speeder to the next settlement over, frowning when Luke has finally had enough and says _what?_

“What yourself,” Han says. “Got a particular destination in mind? Ain't much to choose from, here.”

Luke looks around, taking in the familiar stalls arranged outside the cramped clay huts common across Tatooine, the noise of commerce starting to pick up in the promised cool of the shadows stretching long across the narrow roads. The town he’s taken them to is smaller than Mos Eisley by half, easily, no spaceport nearby to attract off-worlders and the clashes they bring with them, no easy access or egress inviting the thrumming criminal underworld he and Han and Leia have dipped into more deeply than any of them would have liked. Its shops are duller for it, the credits keeping them in business more honest but less impressive than that of its larger peers, but even the quieter towns have pubs, and Luke's never seen Han happier than he is when he's in a smokey, crowded pub, over all the years they've known one another. 

“Come on,” he says, nodding towards the main road winding towards the center of town. “This way.”

He’s guessing it’s the right direction for them to go, and Han can tell but he keeps his mouth shut about it for once, following along with his hands in his pockets and his favored expression of boredom on his face, subtlely casing their surroundings, hyper-aware of every noise and movement, ready to react at the slightest provocation. Still much better-suited to the kind of work they do than Luke could ever dream of being, despite the years he’s spent traveling across the stars with the man, fighting and learning and surviving, even saving Han’s life a handful of times.

The product of their different upbringings, he muses as they walk, Han never much one to talk about his childhood or adolescence unless it’s a story about doing something guaranteed to shock Luke or annoy Leia, but his dreams tell a different story, showing fear and pain and betrayal so devastating that it’s taken actual _effort_ a handful of times for Luke to suppress the pity he feels for the man at his side. Han hasn’t had an easy life, but he’s never let it get to him, instead taking the scraps the galaxy has seen fit to toss him and making something incredible from them, the man he is under his smug, swaggering, self-serving affect worthy of respect more than pity, no different from the selfless heroes of the bedtime stories Uncle Owen used to tell, the heroes Luke imagined himself becoming when he was just a boy.

It’s a mix of melancholy and nostalgia and affection trailing along that particular line of thought that draws him to a stall selling bantha cream drinks, a treat he fondly remembers from childhood and, for all that he’s tried to find its equal on more than a few of the worlds he’s visited over the years, hasn’t had since returning to Tatooine, didn’t even _think_ to seek out when he returned with Leia and Lando to rescue Han. He ignores Han’s _what’s that stuff?_ in favor of ordering two cups of it, nodding when the vendor asks if he wants the local ethanol distillate added, belatedly remembering that bantha cream is traditionally made with an alcoholic base already. Which probably won’t matter, he decides as he pays for the drinks. Uncle Owen always added distillate to his mug when Aunt Beru made it at home, and Han’s never met a drink he didn’t like better when it had as much alcohol as possible in it, so --

“Just try it,” he says, handing Han one of the cups and taking a sip from his own. “I think you’ll like it.”

He should: it’s one of the best Luke’s had, the cream lighter than he’s used to, the mix of spices balanced perfectly with the bite of at least two kinds of alcohol, the heat seeping through the cup maybe not ideal when the cool of evening hasn’t quite set in, yet, but it’s wonderful all the same. Sweet and smooth and comfort from a lifetime Luke rarely revisits, even in the deepest of his meditations. A soothing indulgence that blossoms warmth in his chest, spreading throughout his whole being.

Han takes a cautious sip and laughs, the sound surprised but genuine, his brow lifting in an incredulous expression as he takes another drink, this one more generous than the first. “Hot chocolate?” he says.

“Hmm?”

“We’re on a planet that’ll roast you if you’re not careful, and you buy us hot chocolate,” Han says, his voice warping inside the contour of his cup. “Just when I think I’ve got you figured.”

“We call it bantha cream here,” Luke says, uncertain in a way he isn’t usually around Han, these days. “It’s not rare. Most towns sell it.”

Han lowers his cup and pulls a face. “This is bantha milk?”

“Yeah?”

“Huh. Don’t usually like that stuff.” He takes another drink and licks his lips, shrugging. “Doesn’t taste like that’s what it’s made of.”

“It has other stuff in it too. Sweeteners and spices.”

“And brandy. Saw you tellin’ ‘em to add that in.”

“Yeah.”

Han takes another drink. “A _lot_ of brandy. Maybe some whiskey in here, too,” he amends, and he must be able to tell that Luke’s watching him, hoping for a positive reaction, because he slings a friendly arm around Luke’s shoulders and adds: “It’s good.”

If it’s too warm for bantha cream, it’s _definitely_ too warm to walk around with Han half-draped over him, sipping a hot drink, but Luke doesn’t shrug him off, Han’s tendency to be physical with him something that’s stood out for him since the first day they met, something that’s special, just for him. Han doesn’t touch anyone else like he touches Luke, not Lando or Chewbacca, not even Leia, only getting into her personal space when he’s trying to flirt or pick a fight with her, his guard up around her even when Leia’s let hers down, allowing Han the gift of seeing her as she truly is, not the polished, worldly diplomat and fighter she shows the rest of the universe. He’s got his guard up now, of course, always does when he’s exposed or around others or anywhere but the _Falcon,_ really, and even _then_ he doesn’t fully relax except on rare, precious occasions, usually only after he’s poured a quantity of alcohol into his system. Which he’s working on doing now, steadily taking down the contents of his cup, his satisfied sigh as he licks his lips warming Luke more than the drink he’s nursing ever could.

They wander aimlessly through the streets, Han filling the humming quiet around them by launching into one of his tall, tall tales that Luke has learnt over the years aren’t all _that_ exaggerated, for all that it seems unbelievable that Han has survived well over half of the messes he’s gotten himself into. He’s maybe halfway through the story when they come across the pub Luke was hoping to find, tucked into one of the more heavily populated side-streets, not much of a crowd congregated around it but enough that, with the threads of cheap music Luke can hear even before the pub’s in view, that’s obviously what it is. He’s expecting Han to want to go in for a drink, has his feet turned that way and everything, but Han tightens the arm he’s got slung over Luke’s shoulders and pulls him away, keeping to the main road, his brow sunk into the beginning of a frown as he takes a long pull from his cup.

“Not real interested in showin’ my face around here, ‘specially not with you around to get targeted,” he says when he sees Luke looking at him curiously. “Last time I was here, couple’a weeks back, I had a run-in with the -- huh, brother, maybe? Business partner? Lover? Don’t really know, doesn’t matter -- of one’a the buyers I upstaged. He was talkin’ big about giving me a taste’a my own medicine, threatening me and all that. Didn’t have the guts to put his credits where his mouth is, they usually don’t, and I don’t think he made it off the planet alive, but just in case. Y’know. No need to go inviting trouble when it’s more’n happy to find me all on its own.”

Another shadow following him around, adding to the tension Luke can feel, both in the muscle warm where it’s pressed close to him and in Han’s being when he reaches out, even a little, with the Force. One among many countless drops of bad blood flowing like the promise of pain and death around each step Han takes. Not something Luke’s thought to consider too deeply before, and not something he has any interest in thinking about at _all_ now, the protective affection he feels for the man at his side rearing up with blistering jealousy, the animal urge powerful and growing within him to slaughter any creature in the galaxy that might threaten Han’s well-being. The power of attachments forbidden for the Jedi, which Yoda warned him about and his father has spoken of with him many times since. Strong enough on its own to make any sentient lash out when their loved ones are threatened, uncontrollably dangerous when combined with a Jedi’s ability to use the Force, moreso than any blaster or _Death Star_ or lightsaber could ever be.

Giving it up isn’t something Luke has given much thought, certainly not since Bespin, his delayed arrival condemning Han to six months of carbon freeze and subjecting Leia, by extension, to the abuse she suffered at the Hutt’s hands, the misery both of them have endured, staying by his side, following him back to Tatooine instead of abandoning him. It’s bad for all of them, but it’s something Luke can’t imagine living without, _that_ particular thought bringing more emotion welling up in him than he can process or push aside, ignoring Han’s surprised _wha?_ as he turns abruptly and drags the man down a street that will take them to the far edge of town, where rooms are rented cheap and have thicker walls. Rooms they’ve used before on countless worlds as hideouts and secret meeting rooms and rendezvous points, never for their intended and most popular purpose, the excitement of using them for just that adding to the swirl of darker feelings Luke tamps down with a long pull of his drink, the alcohol probably not helping him center himself, but he doesn’t care about that, either.

Han’s figured out his goal by the time they’ve gotten a room and stumbled into it together, his mouth warm and soft and vaguely rich with the spices from the bantha cream when Luke kisses him, the darkness wrapped around them thick and intimate where neither of them has bothered with the glowbulb hanging from the ceiling. He grunts softly when Luke steps on his foot, uncoordinated and dizzy from the lingering heat of the day and the drink in his belly, gets his hands threaded through Luke’s hair as they kiss, not quite massaging the tension from Luke’s neck, but working out enough of it to add to the drunken dizziness flowing around and through Luke’s being. His kisses are rougher than Luke remembers them being the last time they had a moment to themselves, more demanding and desperate than he’s used to feeling with Han, the older man’s breathing elevated and uneven, carrying a pleased growl when Luke reaches between them to tug Han’s shirt free of his trousers, reaching underneath to _touch,_ caressing all of the familiar scars and ticklish spots he’s missed in the long months he’s gone without, the places he used to know as intimately as the lines on his own palm.

And he’s -- he’s drunk, isn’t he, from the liquor in his drink, undoubtedly, but moreso from the closeness with Han, the focus Han’s always had for him more powerful than any other force in the universe it seems sometimes, more than Luke’s been willing to accept since Bespin, since Endor. Always easier when he has Leia with him, her simple affection for him a safe haven for the love he feels for her, the dark, possessive lust and brotherhood he has with Han. There’s no hiding from it now, nothing for him to do but tug hard at Han’s gunbelt, baring him to the dry air sharp with dust around them, letting Han’s spirit wash over him, drowning him as he wraps his hand around the solid heat of Han’s erection and squeezes, swallowing Han’s low groan of pleasure.

“Bed,” Han pulls away long enough to say when Luke starts to stroke him. “Wanna do this in bed.”

It’s too dark for him to see Luke nod, too dark for them to make it to the bed without stumbling over each other a little, which means Han’s mouth is curved in amusement when Luke gets to kiss him again, humor and happiness warm around him as Luke pushes him down to lie on his back and blindly shoves his trousers down far enough to get a hand on him, stroking him as they kiss.

His cock can’t possibly taste like Leia when Luke breaks the kiss and moves down the bed to take him in his mouth, too many hours passed since he sensed them making love for Han to taste of anything but sweat and stale semen as Luke drags his tongue up and over the head, but Luke could swear that he can taste Leia’s pleasure all the same, memory of her earlier upset and desperation hooking into his thoughts like brambles tearing at his clothes, distracting him from the simplicity of Han’s pleasure and his own desire, the easy lust he feels for the man moaning beneath him. And that’s not what he wants, not when he’s got Han shifting, spreading his legs in an unspoken request for more, pushing up into his mouth with just the slightest rock of his hips each time Luke takes him deep, almost to the back of his throat. He pushes thoughts of Leia from his mind as best he can, distracting himself just fine by trailing his hand down the tensed muscle of Han’s inner thigh, pulling back to suck just at the head of Han’s cock as he pushes his fingers past the warm curve of Han’s buttocks, feeling for the dip and pucker of Han’s ass, and the noise Han makes when he finds it and presses his fingertips against it is thin and beautiful, breaking like the static gathered in the dry desert air.

It’s _arousing,_ the sound and feel and taste of Han bringing Luke painfully erect, the muted pulse of his own heartbeat drumming fast and thick where his erection is pressed tight against the zip of his trousers, unable to stretch out straight in the confines of his underwear. He shifts, trying to ease the pressure without taking his hand or his mouth away from Han’s warmth, but the mattress beneath them is too soft and accommodating to give him the counter-balance he needs, his own frustration echoing in the small, unhappy noise Han makes when Luke has to stop fingering his ass in favor of reaching down to open his trousers and adjust himself, only placated when Luke sucks him in deep, swallowing around the head of his cock on each push.

 _That_ earns him the sound of Han saying his name and reaching down to touch the back of his head, not pushing but present, ready to discourage Luke from stopping or slowing down. Just pushy enough to make Luke’s cock _ache_ with arousal, wet already when he gives in to the urge to stroke himself in time with the up-and-down of his mouth, letting fantasies play through his mind as he does of all the things he could do with Han, wrapped up in the dark privacy of their rented room. Images play across his imagination of spreading Han’s legs wide and fucking him deep, working his prostate the whole time. Turning him over and setting a shallow, quick pace until Han pushes back onto him, fucking himself on Luke’s cock. Pulling Han into his lap and watching him pleasure himself, riding Luke’s cock with no shame, no modesty. Masturbating like he _knows_ how much Luke loves watching him do it, like he knows how good he looks with his own hand wrapped around his cock, shaking all over until climax overwhelms him.

Luke groans, his cock jerking as he strokes it, precome spilling over his fingers with each upward squeeze. Making a mess already, not enough for him to slick and stretch and fuck Han like he wants to, but enough for him to fully wet two of his fingers, down to the knuckles, plenty for him to go back to fingering Han, to do it right this time. Their easy slide into Han’s body takes Han by surprise, his startled exhalation quickly turning into a moan that turns into Luke’s name, his muscles tightening around Luke’s fingers as he rocks his hips up, setting a faster rhythm.

“Gonna -- gonna come,” he warns after a long minute of nothing but harsh breathing, his ass tightening around Luke’s fingers. “Ah, gods, Luke, ‘m gonna -- don’t stop, I’m gonna --”

Luke’s cock jerks, throbbing against his thigh as he shifts to lean over Han more directly and swallow his cock as deep as he can, at the same time pushing his fingers in as far as they’ll go, rubbing at Han’s prostate in time with the thrust of Han’s hips beneath him. Han’s entire body snaps tight and starts to shudder all over with anticipated gratification, Luke’s mouth filling with precome for the last precious seconds before Han’s voice breaks on a breathless shout, climax rushing through him on a full-body convulsion that spasms hard around Luke’s fingers and fills his mouth and throat with semen, Han holding him close as he gulps it all down, fingers tugging at Luke’s hair.

He relents after the final aftershocks have passed, his hands falling limp at his belly and side, his chest heaving as he sucks in mouthfuls of dry air. Utterly satisfied and wrung-out for it, the darkness of the room allowing Luke the privacy to not rein in the self-satisfied look he can feel spreading across his face as he slips his fingers free and licks Han’s cock clean, moving higher to kiss Han on the hip and belly when Han grunts and tries to move away from him, overstimulated but too tired to do much about it. He sighs happily as Luke pauses to kiss the dip of his navel, something Luke usually does after bringing Leia to orgasm, and Han doesn’t seem to mind it, shivering and saying _ticklish_ on a sigh without shying away from the gesture.

“Damned good with your mouth,” he says when Luke’s worked his way up the bed high enough for Han to kiss him on the mouth, sloppy and uncoordinated and delightful for it. “Wanted t’do somethin’ for you while you were down there, but --”

He shakes his head and kisses Luke again, sloppy and breathless still, his hand heavy and warm where he’s got it curled over Luke’s side, keeping him close. He’s not best pleased when Luke pulls away from him, tries without success to keep him where he is, and he’s even less happy when Luke finds the switch for the bedside lamp and turns it on, illuminating the room for the first time since they walked into it, Han squinting despite the lamp’s relative dimness, throwing his arm over his eyes with a low whine. More hypersensitive to bright light than he was prior to his time in carbon freeze, one of several long-term side effects Luke strives not to think about too deeply, the guilt he feels from Han’s incarceration better left undisturbed. He focuses instead on Han’s rumpled clothing, his trousers shoved down around his ankles, his shirt pushed up only as far as Luke needed it pushed to kiss him on the belly. His hair messy, sticking out at odd angles where he’s tossed his head back and forth on the rough pillow, a few strands clinging to the sweat of his brow. His cock soft, now, resting atop his balls. His thighs streaked with precome where Luke brushed his fingers against them, fumbling in the dark, uncoordinated in his rush to feel Han tight around him, to make Han feel good.

“Missed havin’ your mouth on me,” Han says, lifting his arm just enough to look at Luke, to catch him staring. “Been a while.”

Luke nods. “Yeah. I’ve missed it, too.”

Han lifts his arm fully from its place over his eyes and reached for Luke, pulling him over without any plan behind it, grinning awkwardly when Luke doesn’t resist him and ends up half on top of in an uncoordinated spill of limbs. “Anything I can do for you?” he says once Luke’s arranged himself more comfortably, his hand warm as he reaches down to fondle where Luke’s trousers are still open, his cock gone halfway soft.

“You could --” Luke starts, the impulse to ask Han about Leia, about the secrets she’s keeping from him, slipping past his usual filters, a problem he hasn’t had since he was a teenager. That’s not what Han was offering, though, so he shakes his head and leans in to kiss Han on the mouth, licking at Han’s lower lip like a question when Han doesn’t kiss him back.

“What?” Han says when Luke takes the hint and stops kissing him.

Luke cocks his head, confused. “What?” he echoes.

Han lifts an eyebrow at him. “You were starting to ask for somethin’,” he says. “Stopped yourself. Tell me. I wanna know what it was.”

Oh. Luke shakes his head. “It was nothing.”

“Uh- _huh._ Sure,” Han says. He gives Luke’s cock a squeeze, the earliest hint of a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Ain’t something you’ve gotta be ashamed of, if you want to try somethin’ new,” he says. “I’ve probably done it, or seen it done, whatever it is. You’re not gonna _shock_ me or anything.” The grin spreads a bit further, taking on a decidedly lascivious edge. “Could be fun, though. If you _did_ come up with something new. I’d be okay with that.”

Laughing at him isn’t the right thing to do, Luke _knows_ that, really he does, but the weight of the past months and the alcohol he can still feel dulling his wits and the exertion of making love to Han all conspire against his control, bubbling up his throat on a weary laugh that blossoms into full, belly-aching mirth, the release of it as potent as any orgasm he’s ever had, made all the better by the look of bemusement it earns him, Han rolling him onto his back and kissing him as he laughs, helpless and maybe a little bit hysterical.

“I love you,” Luke says once he’s managed to get his breath back, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, tired and happy and wobbly with inebriation he can’t entirely blame on the bantha cream. Han huffs an awkward laugh as he leans in to kiss him again, never good with words in the face of sincerity, distrust and fragile hope and a powerful, almost stifling surge of possessive affection tickling against Luke’s senses as he kisses back, indulging in both Han’s weigh pressing against him and Han’s unique presence in the Force.

“So?” Han says, pulling back just enough to speak. “You got a request for me?”

Luke scrambles desperately for an answer, for any deep fantasy from his younger years that might match whatever it is Han’s expecting from him, a lie to smooth the divide of misunderstanding, but nothing comes readily to mind, most of his favored fantasies swallowed up in the long list of sexual adventures he’s had with Han as his lover, nevermind the amazing pleasure he’s felt, sleeping with Han _and_ Leia, both together and separately. He buys himself time to think by arching up to kiss Han some more, but the kissing is distracting, has his brain fuzzed into white noise by the time Han’s moved down to leave marks on his throat too high for him to cover with his tunic, and _that’s_ distracting enough that he closes his eyes and answers honestly, murmuring _tell me the truth_ while Han kisses his neck.

Han stops kissing him. “How’s that?” he says, his voice a little breathless but his tone guarded, which means he knows already, heard Luke well enough to know what Luke’s asking, but Luke sighs and repeats himself anyway.

“I said, tell me the truth about what happened with Leia today,” he says. “I can tell she’s lying to me.”

Han frowns at him for a moment, then rolls onto his back, treating the ceiling of their rented room to a mild glare as he tugs his trousers up his legs and fastens them, running his hand through his hair as he rolls onto his side once again. “The two’a you, I swear,” he grumbles. “Must run in the family, your not wanting to let a man enjoy gettin’ off.”

“Sorry,” Luke says.

“Sure you are,” Han says. “And while we’re sayin’ stuff we’re gonna be sorry for saying, I’ll remind you that you didn’t tell _me_ about Vader before goin’ off to get yourself killed by him, but that happened. Couldn’t get Leia to tell me what was goin’ on, either, even though I _knew_ you’d told her some big secret, saw you talking to her before you left. Wasn’t until we were halfway to Soccoro that I found out you’d been on the _Death Star_ when Lando was takin’ my ship up to her, ready to blow her to kingdom come.”

“That was different,” Luke tells him (again). “I _had_ to tell Leia, because of her relationship to Vader. If I’d failed and Vader had survived, and if he found out about Leia being his daughter and came after her without her knowing the truth --”

Han waves it away. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve given me that song and dance before,” he says. “Just pointin’ out that _I_ ain’t the one who’s been keepin’ all the big secrets around here, lately. And I’ll have you know that I don’t much like you gettin’ me drunk and telling me you love me just to get me to --”

“That’s _not_ why I said that,” Luke interrupts, pushing himself up on his elbows, “or why I -- Han you know better than that,” but doubt rises in his throat as he speaks, choking him as the words are leaving his mouth. “Don’t you?”

“Thought I did.”

“You _do,”_ Luke says. “I didn’t plan any of this. _Any_ of what’s happened today. I just -- Leia said she wanted to be alone, and I knew this settlement was quieter than the others nearby, so it’d be safer for us to spend some time together. And I’d --” He sighs, embarrassment welling at the pit of his stomach, weak in comparison with everything else, but there, unmistakable. “I’d forgotten that bantha cream usually has a lot of alcohol in it. Even without the added shot of distillate. We always had it at home, my aunt made it, so it wasn’t -- what I’m saying is that I didn’t _mean_ to get drunk, or get you drunk, or anything. I just thought you’d like the drink, is all.”

“Wasn’t enough booze in there to get me drunk anyway,” Han says, softening a little. Luke’s expecting him to tease him about his comparably lower alcohol tolerance, lower even than Leia’s, but he doesn’t, instead reaching out to touch him, brushing his hair back from his eyes; a gentle, affectionate gesture that makes Luke’s chest ache. Forgiveness given to him so easily, just like that. “Leia’ll skin me alive if I tell you somethin’ I’m not supposed to, or if I tell you and get parts of it wrong,” Han says, “so I’ll leave it to her to tell you whatever it is she’s got to tell you, whenever she decides she wants to tell it. I _can_ tell you that it ain’t as big’a deal as you think it is. _Either_ of you. Won’t have any impact on your holy crusade, either. Ain’t even related.”

“Is she pregnant?” Luke asks, surprised when Han immediately shakes his head _no._

“Unless you two’ve had some unprotected fun I don’t know about, anyway,” he says.

“We haven’t,” Luke says.

“Should,” Han tells him. “The having-fun part, anyway. She’s missed it, I’m pretty sure. Wouldn’t be draggin’ me into bed like she has if she weren’t desperate.”

He’s wrong about that, but arguing the point with him feels like a waste of breath, so Luke shakes his head and lets the subject drop, pushing himself fully upright and climbing out of bed, Han’s gaze resting on him like a physical thing as he fastens his trousers and smoothes his tunic.

“You got somewhere you need to be?” Han says when Luke bends down to reach for one of his boots.

Luke straightens. “Back?” he says, uncertainty lining the edges of the word. “Unless you want to spend the night here.”

Han shrugs. “That ain’t a bad thought. Let Her Majesty have the bed to herself for a night.”

“Why would she need to --”

“She doesn’t,” Han says, “but she won’t mind having it, and lettin’ her have it means I get you to myself tonight. And I _like_ the sound’a that, if I’m honest.”

He is, the vulnerability of it setting off every self-preservational alarm he’s got in him, ugly energy rippling through the Force on the heels of his words, for all that his expression doesn’t change, his body slouched in the perfect picture of unguarded relaxation. Always the consummate liar, so practiced in his art that Luke sighs and sets his boot back down, sitting at the edge of the bed with too many questions and conjectures crowding his mind for him to pick just one before Han distracts him, reaching over to squeeze his thigh.

“Ain’t my style to get off and not see you taken care of, besides,” Han says when Luke looks at him, taking in the lopsided smile that speaks to uncertainty more than seduction or desire. “If you’re interested.”

He isn’t, not really, but he nods and turns enough to kiss Han, letting the simple pleasure of Han’s mouth against his own distract him from the worry growing heavier in his heart and mind, the warmth of Han’s fingers slipping under his tunic nice enough, drawing back some of the arousal he felt, before, growing slowly warmer in his belly, then lower, between his legs.

He’ll pursue it in the morning, he promises himself as he pushes Han back and climbs on top of him, Han’s desire for him helping to rekindle the simpler pleasures of his body. Just as soon as the first sun has started to rise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author thoughts:  
Here’s a story that happened out of nowhere, inspired by a writing exercise I did with NotebookishType and HockityPockity to the prompt of “drugs.” Good times.

Unfortunately, the story that precedes this one is like ... not even halfway finished yet, so you and Luke can sit by and wonder what the fuck is going on, while Han keeps his mouth shut and I poke at the other story some more. I’d apologize for that, but I’m not really sorry, mostly because I am a horrible person.

For the curious, here’s the recipe for bantha cream. Blue food dye is optional, but, I mean ...

Bantha Cream:  
\-- 1 cup milk (I use soy milk, but I don’t think the type of milk you use matters)  
\----- _Note_ : Use 3/4 c milk to 1/4 c heavy cream if you’re feeling indulgent  
\-- 2/3 cup Irish cream (Bailey’s is the brand most people know best, I’m from Boston so I like Brady’s)  
\-- 2 Tbsp brandy  
\-- 2 Tbsp unsweetened baking cocoa powder  
\-- 2 Tbsp white sugar  
\-- 1/2 tsp cinnamon  
\-- Dash cayenne pepper  
\-- Dash salt  
\-- 1 Tbsp (1/2 oz) dark chocolate chips

\--- Put everything but the chocolate chips into a microwave-safe bowl and microwave it ~2 minutes  
\--- Add the chocolate chips and whisk until it’s all smooth and nice  
\--- Serve immediately. Marshmallows are pretty nice here, or [foamed milk](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BY9RTNQ/) if you’re feeling fancy.

I sprinkle cinnamon sugar on top of the frothed milk when I make it. Yum.

As for this little arc, I’m super torn on where it seems to be going. I don’t know if I want it to go there, but don’t know if I have any say in the matter (I don’t, usually), and it’s giving me something of a headache. I’m thinking a cup of bantha cream might fix that. Will keep you posted.

Oh, and I love comments. Leave me one, if you can?


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